


Burnt Bridges

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Dates, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, meet cute, nhl jack, petty break up revenge, post-break ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 09:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11483784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack has seen a lot of strange things on his morning run, but never so strange as the attractive blonde man trying to shove an arm chair into a dumpster.  When he stops to offer a hand, he has no idea how quickly things are about to change for him.





	Burnt Bridges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WrathoftheStag (Mwuahna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mwuahna/gifts).



> So this is written for the amazing wrathofthestag who just had a bday pass (which I missed cos I was barely back on tumblr) so this is a suuuper belated gift to a writer who is a true gift to this fandom. I hope your bday was wonderful, love.

“Fucking…come on…you can….ARGH!” There was a loud crash, and then the sound of something hitting metal before, “You know what, fuck you! I’m going to fucking fuck you up!”

Jack came to a halt right before the mouth of the alley, a little concerned, tense, his muscles poised and ready for swinging if he had to. He took a tentative step forward—one, two, three, before he was exposed.

He wasn’t sure what to expect, to be honest, but the sight of the short blonde man in an oversized jumper and short shorts trying to shove what looked like a reclining gaming chair over the lip of a massive bin was not it. The blonde guy was sweating and swearing, his converse a little torn on the side, a little manky from the puddles of funk on the alley floor, and his legs flailed as he kicked out at the bin’s side.

Jack almost laughed. But instead he took another step forward and said, “Can I help?”

The blonde turned, and Jack’s breath caught for a moment. He was gorgeous, in a sort of…strange way. Big brown eyes, a mouth set in a grimace, pale skin sprinkled with freckles. There was a thin sheen of sweat across his brow, and his mussed hair made his cowlicks stand up probably worse than he normally wore it. He had a dark smudge of dust across his left cheek that Jack suddenly wanted to wipe off.

Which was…a strange compulsion.

Jack cleared his throat. “It just uh…looked like you’re having trouble?”

The guy seemed to consider the request, then gave a firm nod, jaw set. “That would be great, thanks.” In all the swearing, Jack had failed to notice the southern drawl until now, which he normally didn’t give any thought to. But coupled with the man’s outrage seemed kind of…cute.

Jack nodded then stepped forward, grabbing one end of the chair. The man grabbed the other, and together they heaved it over the side. There was a satisfying clang as the chair hit the bottom of the bin, and the guy turned to him with a huge smile.

“Is that…all you need?” Jack said, as he noticed a massive pile of black bags all tied up and set neatly in a row. There were also other pieces of furniture, and what looked like piles of clothes and hangers, and boxes labelled, ‘Cards’.

“You know, I thought this would be more satisfying on my own,” the guy said, swiping the back of his hand across his brow. “But actually I wouldn’t mind a hand or two.”

“Well, I’ve got two to spare,” Jack said. His comfort level rose when the guy didn’t seem to recognise him—though Jack wasn’t recognised too much, even if his Providence neighbourhood was fairly small and secluded. But it was nice to just be a random stranger helping toss the bags of…well…he wasn’t sure what. “We’re not like…disposing of bodies, are we?”

The guy turned to him, eyes wide, then he doubled over with a tired giggle. “Oh my lord…no. These are just…” He straightened, his face getting a little dark. “Just taking out the trash.”

Jack had a feeling there was a bit more to it than that, but he decided it might be best not to ask questions just yet. Instead he double-fisted the bags, plonking them in one by one until the alley was clear. The boxes were on the heavier side, but they managed them together, and the odd bits of furniture here and there until each piece was settled.

The guy flipped the lid back down, then took a step back, swiping his hands on the sides of his shorts. “Thanks,” he said after a long moment. “I…that was a big help. I’m Eric, by the way.”

Jack hesitated, then realised they were both a bit gross with dust and whatever else might have been on the bags from the alley, so he stuck out his hand and Eric took it. “I’m Jack. And it was my pleasure. Or well…you know. I was happy to help.”

Eric let out another laugh, sounding more tired than the first one, and he scuffed his foot along the tarmac. “Um. So can I like…buy you a coffee?”

“I don’t like coffee,” Jack blurted, then flushed when Eric’s face fell at the blatant rejection. “Um. But there’s a café not far that does smoothies?” he scrambled to amend. “You don’t have to buy, though. You look like you’re having a rough day.”

Eric’s eyes flickered over to a wooden crate and on top of that was a small binder, thick with plastic sheets Jack assumed were for photos. “I am,” Eric said in a quiet voice. “But if you come with me to one more shop, treating won’t be any problem.”

Jack hesitated. This was by far the strangest end to one of his runs he’d ever had, but something inside him was telling him to carry on, to see how it all played out. “Alright,” he said slowly.

Eric’s face softened, then he walked over and picked up the binder. “You can come in if you want. I really need to wash this gunk off me before we go anywhere.”

Jack realised that might be a good idea for him, so they slipped into the building’s side entrance, climbed two flights of stairs, and he followed Eric in through a thin wooden door.

The place was laid out nice—smaller than Jack was used to, but he realised it had been a while since he’d been in an apartment or house that didn’t belong to either a lawyer, his parents, or an NHL player. There was one love-seat under the window, a TV mounted on the wall, a few bookshelves with more plants than books, and a desk in the corner that had a rather elaborate computer and camera set up.

Jack’s first thought was that maybe this guy did a sex thing online. Which then he realised he’d been listening to his teammates talk too much shit in the locker room.

He cleared his throat, then turned to Eric who was toeing off his shoes. “Where can I euh…” He wriggled his fingers.

Eric jutted his chin toward the kitchen. “I have plenty of soap in there, and hand towels. I need to swap out these shorts, so it’ll just be a minute.” After some hesitation, “Feel free to have a piece of pie if you want.”

_I don’t like pie_ , was almost Jack’s response, but he managed to stop himself then. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like pie, but it was really sugary and he tried to avoid it as often as he could. “Thanks,” he said instead of all that.

Eric disappeared into another room, and Jack took his time washing up. He was just drying his hands on a towel covered in a soft peach print when Eric appeared, more put together than he had been before. He had on longer shorts this time, a tank top with some name written across the front Jack didn’t recognise, and his hair had been combed into place, only a slight upturn at the back betraying the cowlick.

He was just as attractive, and Jack found himself flushing and looking away.

“Did you try the pie?” Eric asked.

“Oh. Um, no,” Jack said, glancing down at the counter where, sure enough, an apple pie with one piece missing sat. “Maybe next time?”

Eric seemed to perk up at that, and he motioned for the door. “Okay. Then let’s get on with this before I lose my nerve.”

Jack was brimming with questions, but he held them back as he followed Eric back into the corridor, down the stairs, and back to the street.

He also didn’t as questions as they passed by the café Jack had pointed out earlier, and he remained silent as they walked into a shop with an obscured front window. Inside was so small, and so full of knick-knacks that Jack was almost immediately claustrophobic. He followed Eric to the front, where a tall, thin man was standing, and waited as Eric pushed the binder onto the counter.

“I want to sell these.”

The guy looked Eric up and down, one eyebrow raised, a look of almost disdain on his face. Jack quickly took another look round the shop, and he realised it was full of…stuff. Comic books, old board games, action figures, sci-fic posters from the early seventies. One even had the old Alien B film his mother had done, and Jack’s heart leapt into his throat when he saw her in her feathered hair glory holding a funky looking gun, wearing tight, white leather.

Quickly turning his attention back to Eric and the shop owner, he watched the guy’s expression. He was flipping through pages, which Jack realised were now some sort of trading card collection, and he was able to notice the minute shifts in his eyes, the way his mouth thinned, and the way his jaw tensed when his eyes grazed over a particular card.

After a moment, the guy closed the book and said, “I can give you four hundred for the lot.”

Eric shrugged, but before he could say anything, Jack set his hand on the counter. “You’re trying to low-ball him.”

The guy seemed to take notice of Jack for the first time, and he scoffed. “Am I? Do you know anything about these?” He opened the top of the binder to reveal a set of holographic cards. Jack hadn’t ever seen them before, but it didn’t matter. He knew Eric was going to get screwed.

“I think I should call my attorney,” Jack said, reaching for his phone. “He probably knows someone who can help…”

The guy paled, and Eric’s hand shot out, grabbing Jack’s wrist. “Make it six, and we’ll call it even.”

The guy tensed, his eyes flickering to Jack because Jack had a feeling that was only a fraction of what the cards were worth. But Eric seemed determined.

“Five-fifty,” the guy said.

“I’ve no idea how much any of that is worth and that sounds good to me,” Eric said. When Jack opened his mouth again, Eric squeezed, and Jack stayed silent.

The guy counted out cash, pressing a wad of dirty, crumpled twenties and fifties into Eric’s hands. Eric took his time smoothing them out, a sort of serene expression on his face. When the money was safely tucked into his wallet, he motioned for Jack to follow him out, and they hit the pavement, the fresh air almost too intense after the stuffy shop.

When they were very well out of earshot, Jack reached out and touched Eric’s shoulder, stopping them both. “He just screwed you.”

“No,” Eric said. “He didn’t.”

“Trust me,” Jack said. “I could tell from his face, those were worth way more than…”

“I know,” Eric replied, his tone now tired. He looked down at Jack’s hand which was still on him, then back up. “Come on, there’s a smoothie with your name on it, and I happen to know that the café has a stock of pumpkin spice syrup under their counter that they’ll give me if I tip them enough.”

Within ten minutes, Jack and Eric were seated in a pair of squashy armchairs near a window, Eric sipping happily on an iced latte, Jack holding his plastic cup full of PB&J smoothie between both hands. Neither of them had said much, but Jack had been watching Eric carefully for a while.

“Three of the cards in that binder,” Eric said, very gentle and quiet, “were worth three grand.”

Jack nearly choked on his swallow of smoothie. Coughing, he swiped his hand across his mouth. “What?”

Eric laughed. “There wasn’t a card in there worth less than fifty.”

“So…” Jack cleared his throat twice. “Why did you…?”

“I told you, he didn’t screw _me_.”

It took Jack a second to catch on, and his eyes widened. “So who…”

“My ex boyfriend,” Eric said with a defiant upturn of his nose. “He was also the former proud owner of the clothes, shoes, books, photos, and two thousand dollar laptop which is now being carted away toward a landfill.”

Jack blinked, a little terrified at the sweet smile across Eric’s face. “I take it things didn’t end well?”

Eric snorted. “No. No, they did not.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jack offered.

Eric sighed, leaning back a little, his eyes flickering toward the window. “Not just now. But um…maybe we could exchange numbers? I think I’d be better company on another day.”

Jack hesitated. He didn’t really do this often. He wasn’t entirely out—it was an open secret, his team had met both boyfriends and girlfriends before, but he didn’t really date people he didn’t know. But this…it felt different. Strangely intimate, and comfortable in a way no one had made Jack feel in years.

He found himself getting out his phone and handing it off to Eric who had it for a good, long while. When it was passed back, Eric was regarding him with a careful expression. “Why do you have Wayne Gretzky’s number in your phone.”

Jack flushed hard. “Um. He’s…my uncle?”

Eric’s eyebrows rose, like he knew there was more to the story, so Jack sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Also I’m the captain of the Falconers.”

“The hockey team,” Eric said in a slightly dry voice, his twang a little sharper. “The professional ice hockey team where most of their players are on million dollar contracts.”

Jack nodded, not sure if he was meant to feel miserable or not. He tried for a smile, knowing it was probably a grimace.

“Jack Zimmermann, the captain of the Providence Falconers helped me screw over my ex boyfriend,” Eric said, then threw his head back and laughed. When he sat forward, he grabbed Jack’s knee and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Jack. I just…I thought this was going to be the worst day, but it kind of turned out to be the fucking best.”

*** 

Two weeks went by. Jack had a couple of roadies, a lot of games, a lot of practise. He ran by Eric’s building most mornings, but never saw him, although every time he peered down the alley, he smiled.

They texted a lot though. Eric sending photos of pies, or cute baby geese he saw when he was at the park, interesting shaped clouds. Jack sent back sunset shots from the plane, the crisp, fresh ice from the rink before a single skate touched it, a beautiful dessert at a restaurant from one of their team dinners.

They talked late into the night, never once bringing up Eric’s break-up, but they exchanged documentaries and sitcoms on Netflix, and Eric sent ridiculous buzzfeed quizzes then a screen cap of an email Eric sent to Buzzfeed when one of the quizzes tried to sort Jack into Slytherin.

He felt…happy. Strangely happy, in a way he couldn’t really name. Every time his phone lit up with a message, his heart would pound and he’d smile. Even the chirps from his teammates couldn’t get through his bubble of joy, and he realised then what was happening.

He was crushing.

Hard.

*** 

Jack nearly fainted at the end of the following week when his phone lit up with a text that read, **You want to come to mine for dinner? I’m trying out this new recipe my friend Derek sent me, and I’d love to see that pert hockey-butt in person.**

Jack’s fingers trembled as he managed a shaky yes, and what time, and do you want me to bring anything.

Eric said half six, and no, just your beautiful self.

Jack hadn’t come out to Eric, but he’d hinted enough, and he was really, really hoping Eric got the message. And even more hoping Eric felt the same.

*** 

Jack was basically a mess by the time he arrived at Eric’s. He’d half dialled Shitty four times before he gave up on the idea and decided to be a proper grown up who could have a date—or dinner—whatever, and tell Eric how he felt.

Or something along those lines.

Jack was a little bit of a dipshit and he knew that, and he was okay with it. He just hoped he could hold it together long enough to confess his feelings and maybe get to kiss Eric on the mouth a lot before he had to leave.

He breathed through a fresh wave of anxiety, told himself the worst Eric would do was tell him no—then he knocked.

Eric answered a beat later, wearing shorts, a t-shirt, looking adorably rumpled but happy to see Jack. He stepped aside, making an over-dramatic sweeping bow, and Jack stepped in, unable to stop his grin.

“Hey. Long time no see,” he said.

Eric laughed. “Except not for me because I get to watch you on TV any time I like. ESPN is literally always running some piece on you. I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you from before.”

“You uh…watch a lot of hockey?” Jack asked, feeling a little sheepish as he took his shoes off and left them by the door.

Eric shrugged, beckoning Jack to the kitchen. “I mean…some. I got into hockey for a while just before college, and it’s one of the few sports I can tolerate watching on TV. Even if their fans tend to overwhelmingly be homophobic shitheads.”

Jack snorted, then waved away the beer Eric offered, but took the glass of juice. “Yeah. It makes the idea of coming out publicly a little more intimidating than I’d like.”

Eric blinked at him, but then said nothing as he reached for the pot on the stove and began to dish out a chicken and veg mixture that smelt both spicy and sweet, tinted red, and looked delicious. It was served with rice, and they took it to the sofa where Eric had some food show on in the background, though the volume was off.

It was a little bit of an awkward silence, but the food was good, and Eric kept smiling and blushing, so Jack was calling it a win.

“So,” Jack began at the exact same time as Eric said, “I’m sorry about…”

Jack laughed. “You go.”

With another blush, Eric pushed his plate onto the coffee table and shrugged. “Um. I’m sorry the first time we met was super weird. I…my ex and I had been broken up for a while, but I found out some stuff that…” He grit his teeth and sighed through them. “He wasn’t a nice person. He wasn’t very nice to me at all by the end, and I took his stuff with me when I moved out to be petty. I was…thinking about giving it back, but then I found out he pulled some shit that…” He swallowed thickly.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jack said very softly, pushing his own plate next to Eric’s. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Is it terrible that I kind of just want to tell someone? So I don’t feel like a total asshole that pulled some petty revenge shit on someone just because they cheated?”

Jack chuckled softly and shifted a little closer to Eric. “First of all, there’s no ‘just because’ if he cheated on you. That’s a violation and frankly if all you did was throw his stuff out, that’s going easy.”

Eric laughed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah. Well…that and selling his collector’s cards for like two percent of what they were worth. And then using some of the money to buy the super hot guy who helped me in my revenge plan a smoothie.”

Jack flushed very hard, and had to glance away for a minute. “Um. What did you do with the rest?”

After a pause, Eric stood up and pulled down at the hem of his shorts. Jack’s brain short-circuited for a second, until he realised Eric was showing him a tattoo on his hip. It was a pie, with a ribbon across the front, and inside the text read: May the Bridges I Burn Light the Way.

Jack’s hand hovered, then brushed lightly along the skin. It was still puckered and rough in a few places, but Eric didn’t seem to mind. When Jack realised what he was doing, he snatched his fingers back and looked up.

Eric was watching him with a careful expression, then sat back down. “So about four years ago, I told Chad I wanted a tattoo. We had just gotten our first place together in Boston and … well I was deliriously happy. I thought things were great.” Eric cleared his throat, sitting back against the cushions, and he spread his arms along the top of the sofa. The tips of his fingers brushed against Jack’s arm, and Jack, carefully, leant into them. “We had this neighbour who uh…he was a real friendly guy. He kept showing up every time Chad was at work—like he knew when I’d be there alone or something. I thought it was friendly at first, but he was…” Eric laughed, a little tense. “Flirty, I guess? I brought it up to Chad who made an off-hand comment about how he and his wife were involved in an open relationship? Like…swingers, you know? So I just…” Eric shrugged again and huffed a sigh. “Anyway the guy was really nice, actually, and seemed almost confused every time I resisted his advances. Then he just kind of asked me, and I told him that there was no judgment about how he lived, but I just wasn’t comfortable having that sort of relationship. He was real embarrassed, left in a hurry, and that was that. I told Chad who kind of laughed about it.”

Jack bit his lip, sensing where this might be going. “Ah,” was all he said.

Eric leant forward to take a drink from his beer bottle, and when he swallowed, he went on. “About two weeks later, the guy comes back, normal as anything you know. Like it never happened. Said his wife was a tattoo artist and would I like to get something. Said that Chad mentioned I’d been wanting to get one for a while. Now, mind you, I was young and wasn’t thinkin’ but he said it would be free so I didn’t want to pass it up. I was a student, mostly broke, so why say no? I show up at her shop and flip through the book and just pick this okay lookin’ flower for my hip. She does a real good job—just the outline and says that after it was healed she’d do the rest.”

Jack leant a little harder against Eric’s fingers, which quickly became an open palm, creeping toward the back of Jack’s neck. Jack shifted a little closer and closed his eyes when he felt Eric’s fingers brush against the nape of his neck.

“We moved right after that. Chad got a new job in Samwell and we didn’t hear from them again. Tattoo was fine though. No big deal.”

“Except I’m guessing it was,” Jack ventured.

Eric let out a tense laugh. “Come to find out a few weeks ago, just a little while after I got here, Chad had…been sleeping with the neighbour’s wife.”

“The woman who gave you a tattoo,” Jack said, his voice coloured with horror.

Eric nodded. “That’s the one. When Chad found out they were swingers, he told ‘em that we were too. Told poor Steve that I was into him, and every time he was out banging Michele, Steve was trying to get me into bed. Of course when I told Steve the truth, they confronted Chad, and poor Michele felt so guilty, she gave me that tattoo for free.”

“Shit,” Jack whispered, trying to feel bad for the whole thing, but it was hard when Eric’s fingers were drifting higher and higher into his hair.

“I couldn’t live with it anymore, and Chad was long gone you know, so I thought what better way to make him pay than to sell his precious card collection and erase the one thing that remained of him on my body.” Eric’s other hand absently brushed at his hip.

“I think,” Jack said, then swallowed and attempted to regain his composure, “it’s very poetic.”

“I took a picture and put it up on twitter so the fucker could see what I did. I put up a picture of the cash too.” Eric managed to get out his phone and pull up his twitter without breaking contact with Jack. In fact, he moved closer, pressing their thighs together as he pulled up the two tweets.

The first was the money, and the caption that said, “No idea what those trading cards were worth, but it’s enough to get what I need.”

The second was the tattoo, shiny and fresh, red and puffy but beautiful the way fresh tattoos were. The caption said, “Sometimes you build bridges, sometimes you burn ‘em.”

Jack looked up, and realised Eric was sat very close. “I think it’s a fitting revenge.”

“Dish best served piping hot, in my opinion,” Eric said, soft and a little breathy. He pushed his phone onto the table, and let his fingers dip under the collar of Jack’s shirt. “I like you.”

Jack’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “I could tell.”

“I think you like me back,” he pushed.

Jack’s cheeks pinked, but he nodded, and then felt daring. Lifting his hand, he cupped Eric’s cheek, letting his thumb graze the soft, freckled skin near his mouth. “I more than like you back, Eric. I wasn’t sure…I was hoping um…”

“Yeah.” Eric licked his lips, then pushed forward so their noses were touching. “Can we kiss now?”

Jack’s laugh was soft, as was his nod, and then he put a little more pressure against Eric’s cheek in response to feeling Eric’s fingers tighten against the back of his neck. And then they were kissing. Deep, but soft and easy, a push-pull of lips, a brush of tongue. Jack’s eyes closed, squeezing shut as his other hand fell against Eric’s hip, tugging him closer so Eric was very nearly in his lap.

When they broke apart, they were breathing a little heavy, and Eric’s freckles were standing out sharp against the pink of his cheeks. “Your kisses actually managed to be hotter than your ass.”

Jack laughed, a bit louder than he meant to, but the joy in him was bubbling and rushing through his limbs. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” Eric said, then surged to kiss him again. When he pulled back, he let their foreheads fall together. “Normally I don’t sleep with people on the first date, but if you’re okay counting dumping an ex’s shit into a dumpster…”

“I count it,” Jack said, just this side of too fast and desperate.

But Eric didn’t seem to mind. He climbed onto Jack’s lap fully, grinning, fingers curling into the front of Jack’s shirt, wrinkling it to hell. “Good. Because I have a very comfy bed, and I can’t wait to see what you look like first thing in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> The tattoo text comes from a quote from the original 90210 series which if that doesn't show my age, I don't know what does. Hah.


End file.
